i dream about that day

when the sun in all its glory

baked my young skin, made

my black hair hot as coals.

on this day

we skipped, and giggled, and basked in our

independence

my hands sticky

my shirt stained the color of the rainbow,

popsicle that engrossed my child brain in its drug like sweetness

stuck oblivion because

nothing could possibly ruin this day.

but then i’m distracted

when the storm clouds come tumbling in and the high wears off.

i noticed them gawking at my rainbow popsicle

barely old enough to form sentences

but my dreams construct the following

where. was. my. mom?

on this day

who. was. i. with.

on this day

at least my popsicle is good

but it’s melting everywhere

because it too fucking hot

it’s syrup won’t stop rolling down – my cheeks

and where is my mom?

who are you?

why am i with you?

please, bring me to my mom.

i. want. my. mom.

i should’ve chosen chips instead